


The Suggestion of Night

by Elizabeth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Carnival, Coffee as Foreplay, Frottage, I can't believe I'm going to use this tag, M/M, PWP, Plot may have inserted itself., Renaissance Era, Venezia | Venice, kind of, or a bit later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-23 13:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17080805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: This is a story about coffee and sex. You're welcome.Written for MerthurDaily's 10 Years of Merthur Celebration 2018, Day 5 -- Before & After/AU/Change the scene...He felt emboldened by the anonymity of Carnival, the mask, and the cloak, as if he was finally able to embrace the suggestions Venice seemed to be making since they’d arrived--suggestions he could never consider at home. “Tell me,” Arthur commanded.“Coffee,” Merlin whispered. He drew in a shaky breath. He placed his hands on the bar, framing the cup as Arthur set it down. “Tell me you like it.” His head tilted, ever-so-slightly to the side...Because apparently I can't just write like, a normal coffee shop AU story.And because coffee was first imported into Europe through Venice in the 16th and 17th centuries.





	The Suggestion of Night

Carnival was a kaleidoscope of jewel-hued silks, ribboned domino masks, and starlight. Sultry melodies cascaded through the alleys and echoed off the canals until Venice itself was a glittering music box. Arthur had never felt more alive. Even away from London, he was only rarely an anonymous, well-dressed Englishman. But in Venice, masked and cloaked, he was merely a man.

“Come on, come on!” Gwaine pawed at him. Painted courtesans leaned out a window at them, giggling and waving. He pulled Arthur from the gondola, Percival close behind.

Arthur hesitated.

“Arthur, let’s go!” Gwaine tugged at his jerkin. “ _Andiamo!_ Sorry, _signorine_ , he’s shy!” The women laughed.

The piazza was lit with torchlight and an enormous moon and Arthur’s eyes wouldn’t stay on the courtesans. He’d sampled their wares before. No, something else drew his attention. But what was it?

“Is something wrong, Your Grace?” asked Percival.

“No, Perce. You two go; enjoy yourselves,” he answered. Gwaine glowered,  so Arthur passed him a few coins. He looked at Percival, watched the man’s eyes rake over Gwaine’s form in the well-tailored breeches, the emerald domino mask. He smiled. Maybe the brothel would provide an opportunity to release some energy, especially without Arthur present.

He wandered on, along the flagstone walk. Something drew him. At first, he thought it was the music, but that seemed to grow quieter. No--there it was again. An aroma filled the night. He chased it, as if in a dream. It carried him along, between the revelers: feathers, brocade, and gemstones sparkled. Elaborate headdresses towered above shockingly low decolletage. Heavy cloaks whorled around androgynous figures that danced like specters in the shadowed passage along the lagoon. He continued, desperate to find the source.

The crowd split before him like a seam.

It was a narrow storefront, well-lit and nearly empty. The sign read “AMBROSIUS.” Arthur entered in a daze, nearly overwhelmed by the scent.

The balmy air was warmly lit in the little shop. Small tables dotted the room, but a long tavern-style bar dominated the space. Behind it stood a man. He looked up as Arthur approached, and they both stopped.

His eyes were blue.

His lips were pink, and Arthur was not sure which feature he wanted to stare at, so he stood there, transfixed, until the man seemed to swallow and look away. Arthur breathed, suddenly aware that he hadn’t since seeing him. He felt shaky. Weak. Perhaps it was the scent.

“Cos'è quello?” he asked.

“Your Italian is rubbish,” said the man. He laughed, and Arthur’s heart stopped.

“You’re English?”

“Welsh,” said the man. “Obviously.”

“What is that smell?” Arthur asked.

The man laughed again. He sat a small cup on the counter and poured a dark brown liquid into it. “Here,” he said. His eyes sparkled as Arthur approached. The man passed him the cup and their fingers brushed. Arthur drew in a breath. He felt the touch in his hand, his chest, his legs. He watched the man lick his lips.

Arthur drank. It was hot and bold and unlike anything he’d ever encountered. He refused to look away as he sipped it, and the man’s cheeks turned pink. He had a faint dimple when he smiled. “What is it?” Arthur asked.

“Do you like it?”

“I… am not sure. What is it?”

“You do not like it?”

“No, not that. It is not what I expected. But what is it?”

The man’s smile was impish, and his eyes were gold, now, just in the middle. He was silent.

“Why won’t you just tell me?”

The man laughed. “I thought you Englishmen were the height of sophistication and knew everything.”

Arthur fought to repress his smile and failed. “My father would have said so.”

“He sounds delightful.”

“You have no idea”

The man laughed again.

“What’s your name?” Arthur tried again.

“Merlin. Merlin Ambrosius.”

“Interesting name.”

“What is yours?”

Arthur smiled. He realized, suddenly, that Merlin was disadvantaged. Not only did he not know Arthur’s name, but also he hadn’t seen all of his face. Arthur still wore his domino mask. It was black, with crystals and crushed pearl. “Tell me what this is, Merlin.”

Arthur said the name slowly, like a caress, and saw Merlin shiver in response. “Tell me _your_ name,” Merlin said, but his voice was a soft plea, breathless and low. It stoked a fire in Arthur. He stepped toward the bar and leaned across it. Merlin leaned forward. “Who are you?” His lips were parted and just barely glistening in the light.

Arthur bit at his own lip and watched Merlin’s eyes catch there, so Arthur let his tongue wet it. He felt emboldened by the anonymity of Carnival, the mask, and the cloak, as if he was finally able to embrace the suggestions Venice seemed to be making since they’d arrived--suggestions he could never consider at home. “Tell me,” Arthur commanded.

“Coffee,” Merlin whispered. He drew in a shaky breath. He placed his hands on the bar, framing the cup as Arthur set it down. “Tell me you like it.” His head tilted, ever-so-slightly to the side.

Arthur smiled. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Merlin’s. They both gasped at the power of it: Arthur felt gutted, as if the earth was collapsing beneath his feet, and the piazza was sinking into the lagoon. He lifted his hand and cupped Merlin’s cheek. His skin was just dusted with a day’s stubble, and Arthur felt the rasp on it against his thumb before tracing his middle finger over the shell of Merlin’s ear and down the line of his neck. He wore a tunic with a deep cut at the throat, and Arthur pulled down on it, revealing the collar bone beneath.

And then their lips met again. This time, it was not a soft greeting. It was a challenge from them both, demanding to be met and known. Their mouths opened and Arthur’s tongue swept against Merlin’s, seeking desperately to taste him. Merlin did not shy away. He reached up and clasped Arthur’s neck, returning the kiss with ferocity.

Merlin pulled back as suddenly as it had begun. “Wait,” he panted, holding up a finger. Arthur had fisted his shirt. He did not let go. “Who are you?” Merlin asked. “Even here this is… dangerous.” He glanced toward the door, which remained open. Revelers passed by, unknowing or uncaring.

Arthur frowned. He knew Venice was safer for men and women who acted on urges best ignored farther north, but it was still not safe from some of the more hateful amongst them; always there existed some who would not tolerate a love different than their own. Arthur took a step back. Merlin’s hands fell to the bar. He ran a finger against the cup and looked down, then back up at Arthur. His face was stricken, as if all the lights in Venice had flickered out.

So Arthur reached up and untied the mask. He heard Merlin’s intake of breath. The mask fell to Arthur’s side.

“Do you know who I am?” asked Arthur.

“Lord Pendragon, Your Grace. I have seen your portrait, yes, in the _avvisi_.”

“Call me Arthur.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. He looked back at Arthur’s lips, then up to his hair, down to his chest, and then to the door. “My rooms,” he said, “are upstairs.”

Arthur strode to the door. He shut it and turned the lock. “Lead the way.”

 

Merlin’s tunic was light beneath his fingers as Arthur pulled it free. He felt his jerkin and shirt part as Merlin reached beneath with warm, sure hands. The coffee smell clung to Merlin’s skin and hair, with a spice and something sweet Arthur could not place.

Arthur inhaled greedily as he lapped at Merlin’s neck, sucking bruises into the hollow above his clavicle. His hand dipped down and clutched. Merlin’s cock was stiff and throbbing beneath his grip and Arthur squeezed. Merlin’s moan was smothered, though, by another fierce kiss.

But Merlin was not content to merely receive Arthur’s passion. He shoved the garments down Arthur’s arms and gripped his shoulders, kneading the firm muscle with strong fingers. His mouth was more devastating than any sword Arthur had met on the field of battle, especially when it dipped, suddenly, to his chest. Merlin nipped at him and then licked along to his nipple, teasing one and then the other, until they pebbled. He squirmed.

“Sensitive?” Merlin asked. His voice was almost mocking.

“You are a menace,” Arthur grumbled. He pulled back and then pushed at Merlin, pressing him back into the bed. “Off,” he murmured, tugging at Merlin’s breeches. The man wore nothing underneath, and Arthur could see, finally, the unadulterated beauty of Merlin’s flesh. His cock was stiff and upright and just wet at the tip. Arthur licked his lips and watched Merlin quiver. He leaned down and breathed him in.

“Arthur…” Merlin whispered. His fingers found Arthur’s hair and Arthur mouthed a kiss against Merlin’s thigh. He moaned, so Arthur placed one closer. He pulled at his hair, so Arthur licked a line from the base of the shaft to the tip. Merlin made an unintelligible sound and Arthur met his eyes, mouth closed around the fullness. Merlin’s eyes were half-closed, but Arthur could see the pupils gone wide in the soft, dim light, black within a magnificent blue like the Mediterranean.

No wonder men went to sea for so long, Arthur thought. That blue could entrance, enrapture, enslave. If he were Odysseus, he’d have never returned. I’m going mad, he thought. He sucked at Merlin, nearly swallowing him down, salt bitter at the back of his tongue.

“I want to see you,” Merlin gasped. “Please, Arthur.”

Arthur pulled off, his mouth making a slick sound in the quiet room. Carnival felt miles away.

Arthur stood. He felt Merlin’s eyes on him like a soft touch as he undid the laces of his breeches. He peeled everything off in one movement, stepping out in the firelight.

“My god you are glorious,” Merlin whispered. His voice was soft and filled with awe. He leaned back against the pillows and cushions. The firelight flickered on his pale skin and Arthur was transfixed by the shadows playing on his lithe form.

“Glorious,” Arthur repeated. “Yes.” He traced his fingers across Merlin’s chest, down to the line of his hips, and then back up as he crawled back onto the bed, into Merlin’s hair. “ _You_ are glorious,” he said, his voice low and savage before he claimed the pink mouth yet again. _And mine_ , he thought. Merlin’s legs wrapped around him as he pressed their chests together and they both stopped, eyes wide, and stared at each other. Arthur shifted. His erection pushed against Merlin’s and they both groaned in rapture.

“Don’t stop,” Merlin begged. His legs shook and Arthur gripped his hip with one hand and held himself up with the other. Merlin ran his hands down Arthur’s chest and found their pleasure, taking both cocks in his hands. “Oh,” he whispered. He reached over and made quick work of the vial of oil he’d placed beside the lamp. “Yes.” Hands slick, he gripped them, taking over from the pace Arthur set.

Arthur’s world became a swirl of pleasure and heat and Merlin. Nothing else mattered. Their lips found each other, pulling back simply to gasp and whisper “Yes” and each other’s names.

Merlin came with a soft cry, and the wet heat on his stomach brought Arthur over the edge. He shook with the force of it and collapsed against Merlin. They clung to each other, panting, shaking, and kissing, still, even with bruised lips.

Arthur rolled to his side and they stared at each other.

“My father is dead,” said Arthur.

Merlin’s brow creased.

“I mean, I have inherited.”

“Right…”

“I mean, I do not have any obligations.”

“I do not think I follow.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “I mean… I do not have to go back.” He paused. “Or anyway, rarely. It will not be difficult to settle affairs with a steward, and my sister and Leon are more than capable and anyway--”

Merlin stopped him with a kiss. “Forsooth.”

“So tell me more about this coffee.”

 

It was the first night they stayed up talking until dawn, but it certainly was not the last.


End file.
